Peter Pan and the Lost Boys
by HeyImIssie
Summary: Peter Pan is a teenage delinquent living in an auto repair shop with the rest of his gang; the Lost Boys. Wendy Darling is the rebellious daughter of the heir to a wealthy cooperation. What will happen when the damaged, punk, motorcycle riding not-so-law-abiding citizens world collides with the world of a blue blooded, sarcastic good girl?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue-Wendy 

He doesn't look right, not the way they covered him in makeup, and he looks too pale, too perfect. You can't even make out his dimples. His tattoos stand out against his skin more, I guess they don't put makeup on anything but the face. With a shaking finger I trace over the tribal tattoo that's visible from the ¾ sleeves of his shirt. I stop at the his shirt cuff, my fingers lingering on the fabric but my mind continuing to trace over the tattoo which travels up his arm, flaring over his shoulder, before curling to a stop mid chest and mid back.

_"You want to know about my tattoos, huh, Darling?" Peter shook his head, chuckling._

_ "Yeah," I persisted, "Why would you cover most of your body in tattoos? You're only sixteen, where did you get them anyways?" _

_ "I forget sometimes," he murmured, all humor gone from his face, "That you're from the good side of town." _

_ I roll my eyes, "Come on, Peter, why you got so many tattoos?" _

_ "You know how people get really sad sometimes and they feel like hurting themselves?" He asked me, eyes dark, and voice far off. He wasn't really Peter anymore. _

_ "Y-yeah," I say, shocked. _

_ "Well," he continued, emotionlessly, "Some people drink away the pain, others pull a trigger, some cut up their wrists, some people pop pills, others do drugs, but I…I prefer long-term pain, and tattoos give me that." _

_ "Peter…" tears sting my eyes, "Oh my God Peter, what did you go through?" _

_ Peter shrugs, not quite meeting my gaze before wheeling himself back underneath the car he had been working on, "Hell, Darling, I have been through hell." _

"Hey, Wendy, you okay?"

I jump, shocked out of my memory, and realize I had been digging my nails into Peter's arm, leaving red marks on his porcelain skin, "Y-yeah."

Nate gives me a skeptical look, "Come on, Honey, let's go outside."

"I-"

"-come on," Nate whispers, prying my fingers from Peter, "Just to get some fresh air before the viewing starts, okay? I think we could both use it."

Finally, I nod, following Nate to the parking lot of the funeral home, where nobody seemed to park in except for the funeral home employees. Probably because there's no shade. It's hot today…Peter would have hated it. I sit on the guardrail and feel Nate settle down beside me, lighting a cigarette. We sit in silence for a while, just breathing in and out.

"He loved you, you know," Nate finally says, exhaling smoke from his mouth, "Like, the way they describe it in books, he really did."

I hug myself and feel my composure slipping away from me and I quiver, keeping the tears and sobs in, I know if I open my mouth I'll lose my shit, so I just nod.

Nate looks at the sun and shakes his head, and I see a tear slide down his cheek, his cigarette drops to the ground, his hands shaking too hard to hold anything, "Bastard."

Slowly, I wrap my arms around Nate's massive chest and bury my face into his chest, "I love him, too."

"Goddammit, Peter!" Nate explodes suddenly, his grip on me making it hard to breathe, "You goddamn bastard, you stubborn bastard!"

And that's exactly when I lose my shit.

And Nate loses his shit, too.

Because of goddamned Peter, the stubborn bastard.

After what feels like an eternity, and after I feel like I could never cry a single tear again, me and Nate walk back into the funeral home, numb and only half paying attention. A lot of people come up to me and hug me, sobbing into my shoulder about, "how tragic, losing such a bright boy so young," funny how these are the people who thought that Peter was a good for nothing delinquent just a week ago. I hold them loosely, pat them on the back and murmur that yes, what a tragedy, he truly was an amazing person. And I realized something; while I was doing this I felt absolutely nothing, just an aching lonely emptiness. Because, really, there was nothing to feel. Not without Peter, what was the point of smiling if he couldn't smile with me? There wasn't any sense to anything anymore. After a countless number of people I collapsed onto a chair and stared at the nothing in front of me.

"Mind if I sit?" I look up to see Quinton, one of the twins, blotchy faced and breathing heavily.

"Of course," I say, "Why wouldn't you be allowed to?"

She shrugs, before sitting down slowly, "Well, at least you're not playing that horrible, stereotypical funeral shit."

I somehow manage to laugh, "Yeah, I don't think Peter would forgive me if I played that."

"I would kick your ass for him," Quinton says, shoving me playfully.

I grin, "Don't doubt it, Quinn, I really don't."

"It's-it's so weird," Quinn says, eyes watering going serious, "The shop is just so _empty_ now, you know? Like he took the life out of all of us."

My throat constricts and I feel fresh tears prickle my eyes, "Yeah," I sniffle, silently adding _at least I know he took the life out of me._

"Y-you should still come around, okay?" She says, grabbing my hand in a death grip, wiping away tears and smearing eyeliner all over her pale cheeks, "Just-just because h-he's gone d-doesn't mean you're n-not w-welcome, okay?"

I nod, tears receding, "Okay."

"Good," Quinn says, somewhat regaining her composure but still clinging to my hand, "You're a part of us now, you know, one of the Lost Boys. Always will be."

"I-thanks, "I say, "That means a lot."

Quinn smiles sadly, "I know we got off to a rough start, and it's my fault, too. But you've become important to all of us, and I hope we can start over. Be friends."

I smile, a small smile, but a genuine one, "I'd like that."

Quinn smirks, "Don't get all mushy on me now, Darling, I gotta rep to up keep," she jokes.

I roll my eyes, "Me? Mush? I learned from the best, the toughest of the tough."

Quinn chuckles sadly, "You sure did."

We fall into a heavy but not awkward silence, each of us lost in our own memories of Peter. And then it feels like there isn't nearly enough oxygen in the room and I stand, rushing outside. I stand in the parking lot for a second, hyperventilating and hugging myself. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to hope that my arms are Peter's arms and that this is all just a horrible nightmare and that when I wake up he'll be laying right beside me and he'll be healthy with a beating heart and not have makeup on and not be being mourned by the Lost Boys or anyone else and that he'd just laugh at me again and tell me I was being crazy, that the only thing that had the power to kill him was a killer clown on a pogo stick twirling a baton with a magical ass. I opened my eyes slowly and almost collapsed to my knees at the fresh-feeling pain of not having him here. Then I take a deep breath and walk towards the motorcycle Peter restored for me, it was an electric purple and wicked fast and it was just something Peter thought I needed if I was going to be a Lost Boy. I climb onto it shakily, kicking the stand up before starting it and tearing out of the parking lot. I drive down to our spot, park, and run onto the grass before collapsing as a ball of sobs and snot and tears and ripping grass out of the ground as I remember Peter. And wishing I could regret the day we started becoming more than cautious friends that day in English class.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: Peter 

People automatically assume I'm just a troublemaking hoodlum who rides a motorcycle and burns things down for kicks. To be honest, I don't blame them. That's what I look like and quite frankly I don't give a flying fuck about their opinions, so when Mr. Dennison glares at me when I walk in, I scowl at him and make my steps louder, not exactly stomping but loud enough to cause a distraction. Eighteen pairs of critiquing eyes glower at me as Mr. Dennison stops his speech on literary devices and purses his lips as I collapse into my plastic chair and groan loudly.

"Mr. Pan!" Mr. Dennison bursts, balding, piggy face going red, "Would you show a bit of respect for the _educated _and those who would _like_ to be educated?"

I shake my head and chuckle, "Yeah, sure thing, except I don't see anyone fitting either of those descriptions in here, _sir_."

Mr. Dennison seems like he's about to explode but some of my classmates have begun to snicker, and I wink, before he answers, "Mr. Pan, would you like to take a trip to Admin?"

I shrug, "Whatever you'd like, sir."

Mr. Dennison sneers at me, "That is exactly what you want, isn't it, Mr. Pan?"

I gasp, "Wow, sir, you have managed to completely decode my defense system and figure out what it is exactly that I want, bravo, bravo!"

Mr. Dennison looks like he might just explode at any second before an odd sort of calm washes over his face and he turns back to the white board, continuing in his monotone, "…your assignment corresponding with this lesson will be a joint book report on a book on the Assigned Book List. I will be assigning your partners." The whole class seems to groan as one being, and I sigh, not exactly minding the book report but the joint part of the assignment. I don't tend to play well with others, and it's not really my fault. I'm judged in a nanosecond before being pushed aside as someone not to fraternize with. It sucked but it wasn't anything I could change, and if someone was going to judge me so quickly, they weren't really worth my time anyways.

"I'm Wendy," a girl says, startling me. She smirks.

"Peter," I say. And I check her out. She's not short but not tall, with straights auburn hair, bangs covering her forehead and big, blue bambi eyes. Freckles cover her cheeks and nose, perfectly glossed lips set in a permanent half smile. She rolls her eyes at me, plopping down in the chair next to mine before flipping her hair and facing me, "I know."

I raise my eyebrows at her crossed legs and smirk, "Well, Darling, what book do you suggest we do?"

Her eyes narrow, "Don't call me that."

I roll my eyes, "Don't flatter yourself, that's your last name isn't it?"

She blushes and looks away; one point for Peter, zero points for Wendy. She takes a deep breath before looking at me again, "I'm gonna guess you haven't read any of the books-"

"I've read all the books on that list," I give her a bored look, "So pick whichever one you'd like."

"No freaking way," she scoffs at me, glancing at my tattoos.

Anger simmers inside me but I shrug, "Believe me or don't, not like I give a shit. What book do you want to do?"

I can see the shock in Wendy's face but her poker face is that of an expert, when she says, "A Tale of Two Cities, I guess, I hear its good enough."

"Hmm," I say, "One of my favorites."

Her lips quirk, "It's a romance by Charles Dickens."

"I know," I snap, "So when do you want to work on this thing? Wait, how long does it usually take you to read something?"

Wendy frowns before muttering, "Sorry," and then returning to a normal tone, "Depends-"

I sigh, irrationally irritated by this girl, "If you want to borrow my copy, its 366 pages, size nine font, and written in Victorian English, so, how long?"

Wendy's gaze hardens ever so slightly and I suddenly feel bad for being so harsh, "A couple days, I suppose," she answers.

I nod, "Would you like to borrow my copy?"

Wendy sits and stares at me for a second, and for the first time ever while being looked at by a girl I feel nervous, tapping my toes and pulling my hand through my hair before crossing my arms over my chest and deciding to stare her down. She cocks her head to the side and smirks, staring at me for another second before nodding to herself.

"Sure, when do you want to give it to me?"

I shrug, "Whenever you'd like."

Wendy nods, "You busy tonight?"

"No," I tell her, lying, "Where would you like to meet?"

"Come to my place," she says to me, and a couple heads turn, raised eyebrows, "When can you make it?"

I shrug, "Whenever I'm welcome, I'll just have to stop off at home to pick the book up."

Wendy smiles, "Whenever you'd like, I'm home all afternoon."

I nod, "Cool, okay, should I call you or something?"

Wendy shrugs, "Nah, just show up, or I will track you down, Peter."

I smirk, "Sure, okay, Darling, I will appear whenever I feel like."

The bell rings and everyone rushes out but Wendy smirks at me, "And if I decide you're late?"

"A wizard is never late; he always arrives at the time he desires."

"You're a wizard now?"

"Maybe," I say, "You don't know me."

Wendy's smirk is still in place when she shoves her things in her bag, walking out without turning to look at me. I watch her leave, for some reason worrying what she thinks of me, and wishing she had stayed a second longer, or at least spoken for a couple more seconds, just to understand a bit of how she sees the-

I shake my head, "Get your shit together, Peter," I mutter to myself before leaving, feeling Mr Dennison's hell-fiery glare on my back as I walk out and think about how I'm going to get out of working tonight.

Last bell rings and I am the first one out of math class, bolting out the door and shoving my way through the crowded halls, stopping at my locker quickly to grab my jacket, then rushing out the door and hopping onto my motorcycle, my tires screeching against the asphalt as I jerk the wheel to avoid getting turned into a human pancake. It's not a long drive to the shop, but it is a bit lengthier if you stop to buy chocolate chip cookies for Quinn. When I arrive, the closed sign is propped against the window, but I know the door will be unlocked.

"Lucy, I'm ho-ome," I sing, walking to the door leading to the rooms me and the Lost Boys' stay in, kicking my door open and dumping my bag on my bed, "Quinn, I brought you something."

"WHAT IS IT?" The yell comes from inside the shop, so it's a bit faint. But Quinn will always be heard, she has the lungs of an athlete even though she's smoked about a pack a day for four years now. How the girl even breathes, I don't know. I quickly grab my copy of A Tale of Two Cities and shove it into the space between my torso and my jacket, grab the packet of cookies and go to face impending doom. I walk into the shop and see Quinn working on her motorcycle; which seems to be the only thing she ever does besides smoke, considering she dropped out last year. Quinn is the kind of girl that looks like she'd be in pageants, with a beautiful face and perfect proportions. She's the stereotypical blond and blue eyed girl, a bit aloof but filled with sarcasm and bitterness.

"So I brought you cookies," I say, and shake the bag so that they rattle, and her face jerks up.

"Cookies?" Then her eyes narrow, "Why?"

"I-uh-" I clear my throat and lean against one of the work tables, "-need to get off work tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

_Wendy_

There's a sharp knock on the door and I jump off of the couch, rushing to the door before peeking through the peephole to see Peter, he's changed into a pair of dark wash jeans and a white V-neck covered with a black leather riding jacket, I open the door and he smirks.

"That fond of the uniform, huh Darling?"

I roll my eyes and back away from the door so he can come in, "Oh come in before I change my mind."

He raises his eyebrows and walks in and marveling at the foyer, giving a low whistle, "Well I've heard this place is nice but, damn Darling, you sure got it good."

"Thanks, I guess," I mutter looking at my feet and keeping myself from telling him that life isn't all that easy on this side of town either, but realize that I would sound just like one of those attention-seeking rich girls. He cocks his head to the side, a curious expression on his face as I close the door and he shrugs before producing a small red rectangle from behind his back.

"So, here's the book," he hesitates before holding it out to me, "Careful with it, please. It is very important to me."

"For sure," I grab it and hold it gently, "Thanks for bringing it, do you want something to drink?"

Peter hesitates, "Sure, yeah. Whatever you've got."

I laugh, "Follow me-keep your shoes on-and we can figure out how to tackle this bad boy."

"Alright," he grunts, pulling off his boots, I start walking down the hall and soon enough I hear him trotting behind me, "Keep up, don't want you to get lost now," I grin at him over my shoulder.

"No kidding," he answers, flashing me a grin that probably drops pants on a daily basis. I shake my head, chasing the thought away as we enter the kitchen. I walk over to the fridge and open it, scanning the contents and finding mostly coke and Mountain Dew.

"So, it seems my family survives on caffeine and water, what would you prefer?"

Peter has settled himself on one of the stools at the island, "Um, whatever."

I roll my eyes and place the book on the island before grabbing two bottles of Mountain Dew and hopping onto the island, crossing my legs lotus style and dropping one of the bottles in front of Peter, "I picked caffeine."

Peter chuckles, a bemused expression on his face, "Chairs too mainstream for you?"

I shrug, taking a sip of my pop, "I do what I want."

"Obviously," he glances around, "Sounds pretty empty."

"Yeah," I nod, "we happen to be the only people in Casa de Darling this afternoon."

"Oh," Peter visibly relaxes, "That's good I guess."

"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows.

Peter chuckles, "I doubt most parents would want their daughters fraternizing with their daughters, and quite frankly your brothers aren't a big fan of mine."

"Yeah," I say, "What's up with that anyways? They don't like you or your 'Lost Kids' or something."

"_Lost Boys_. And I'm not quite sure; I know I'm not directly responsible for any bad blood between the twins' and your brothers."

"'Twins'?"

Peter nods, "Quinn and Daniel. I think your brothers-John?-screwed Quinn over. Details are kind of murky."

"Oh," I sigh, "Yeah, John. He's an asshole."

"No kidding," Peter mutters and I frown at him and he grimaces, "Long story."

"Ooookay," I say, before changing the subject, "So Peter, how's this book?"

"I loved it," he says, "You'll probably like it."

"Cool," I take the book in my lap and gently open it, on the front page there's a message that I try not to read but I do and I shut it quickly, handing it back to Peter, "I can't take this, your mother gave this to you."

He shrugs, "She wouldn't mind, you'll be careful?"

I nod.

"Then it's fine," he loosely crosses his arms, not really in defiance or anything, seems more like comfort, "She left me tons of books."

"Oh did she go on a trip?"

"You could say that," he says in a tone that says he doesn't want to talk about it.

I sigh, stretching my back and glancing at the digital clock on the stove, "Holy crow, it's five, do you want something to eat?"

Peter shakes his head, "Nah, I should get going."

"Oh please don't. I'm alone until around midnight, why don't you just have some food, then you can leave?"

"Umm," Peter says and I mentally kick myself in the ass for sounding so desperate, but for some reason I don't want him to leave, "Sure," he finishes.

"Sweet," I grin, "So what do you want?"

"Whatever you were planning on having whatever is easy."

"You, Peter, may be my favorite dinner guest in the universe, so mac 'n cheese it is."

Peter chuckles, "Alright."

"This is so weird, why are they singing? Why-oh god did he just hip thrust?"

I laugh, "That's young John Travolta for you, hip thrusting his way into the hearts of tweens and teens and adults alike."

Peter scrunches up his face, "And this girl-Sandy, right?-she moved from Australia?"

"Yes, Peter," I sigh, "Could you just watch?"

"But do they find each other?"

I grin, "Just watch."

Peter sighs and stretching out so that his head is nearly touching my knee, "Oh fine."

_Peter _

The movie continues with lots of singing and lots of clichés but even though I would never admit it to Wendy, it was a pretty good movie. Wendy was yawning, lying down on her stomach with her head turned towards the television. I was on my back; my hair almost touching Wendy's perfectly pedicured toes.

"So," she says sleepily, "How you liking it?"

"It's pretty okay," I answer, "I mean, not the worst I've ever seen, but it's still not the best."

"You have a bad taste in movies, Peter Pan," she laughs, "Is your last name really 'Pan'?"

"Har-har-har, hilarious, I know. And it is."

"No middle name?"

"Now that," I sit up and stretch my back, "is my deepest darkest secret. And I don't share my deepest darkest secret with anyone."

Wendy grins and sits up, "But I'm not just anyone, I'm your best friend."

I throw my head back and laugh, "Are you now?"

"Well," she scoots closer, "I _did_ feed you, and give you caffeine, and show you the marvelous cinematic masterpiece known as Grease."

"Hmm," I suddenly notice how close she is, and the top buttons on her shirt have come undone-quickly, I shift my gaze to a safer place, "That doesn't make you my best friend, not yet."

Wendy sighs, thumping back onto the couch, her hair all over the place, "That's hardly fair, Peter-what's-his-face-Pan. But I am used to the unfair, so you ware forgiven."

"Maybe we'll be-"

The door suddenly opens and a female voice yells, "Wendy, Wendy where are you?"

"Oh flaming penguin dung," Wendy hisses, "That would be my mum."

"Shit," I don't even get to react to Wendy's version of a curse before a middle aged woman with a mean copy of Wendy's eyes appears in the archway leading to the room we're in, and her eyes zero in on my arms, her mouth twisting in disgust, "And who the fuck are you?"

Wendy jumps off the couch, "Mother! Don't talk to Peter that way!"

Mrs. Darling doesn't even bat an eyelash at Wendy, her heated stare zeroed in on me, "Well? Answer me, you are in my home."

"My name is Peter, Ma'am," I glance down at my hands, "I was just leaving."

"Damn right you were," Mrs. Darling looks disgusted as she glances at my tattoos once again, and for some reason, for the first time, I regret wearing a white shirt, because you can see them all, muttering, "White trash."

Wendy looks horrified, "Mother, stop!"

But I'm already rushing out of the room, ignoring Wendy and Mrs. Darling's shouts I shove my feet into my boots and run onto my motorcycle, for some reason the feeling of rejection hasn't stung this badly until now. We were having harmless fun, watching a movie. I glower at my tattoos and accelerate, my jacket flying out behind me, the faster I go the less I feel.

When I get back there's no one to welcome me or ask me any questions, so it's easy for me to grab a couple beers and a bag of chips, and get to my room undetected. I kick off my boots and dump the beers and chips onto my bed. My room is nothing impressive; the most expensive thing in here is probably my book collection, second to that is probably Hannah, my guitar. I drop onto the ground and stare at the ceiling for a second. It's white and littered with spit-balls and old posters, the wooden panel walls are either covered in book shelves or posters. My amp is in my closet and I contemplate going out and grabbing Nate's electric that he never uses. Deciding against it I open a beer and chug it down, still sputtering and breathing heavily when I reach for my second. I ball the cans up and chuck them into a corner; I walk over to the corner and grab Hannah before settling on the bed and playing. I'm not sure how long I've been playing when my fingers start bleeding. I put Hannah aside and down another beer before grabbing her again and playing even harder. I don't know when but eventually will I have to put Hannah aside for good because my fingers will be too fucked up to play anything, so I'll just grab more beers and drink until I pass out, anything really, as long as I can escape the demon clawing its way into my thoughts.

_Wendy_

"I'm going to ask you again, Wendy," Mother says, "Why was that-that filth in my home?"

"I _told_ you, he was just giving me this book," I hold up Peter's copy of A Tale of Two Cities, "Because we were partnered together for an English assignment."

"Then why was he on _my _couch, explain, please."

"Because, I invited him for dinner, then we were watching a movie," I glare at her, "Considering I've been alone for so freaking long, I wanted some company."

Mother rolls her eyes, "Oh please, you'd be fine on your own."

"Whatever," I stand up and turn my back on her, "I'm going to my room."

"You always run away from your problems, Wendy," Mother says with disgust, "When are you going to learn to grow up?"

"I don't know!" I yell, "But if growing up means becoming such an ignorant bitch like you, I never want to!"

"Wendy Gwyneth Darling, do not speak to me that way!" She yells back, walking closer to me, "You need to learn your place, girl, and if you aren't going to learn on your own, there will be consequences!" She stops right in front of me, and in her heels she towers over me, "I forbid you from fraternizing with any of those-those _disgusting _people, do you understand me?"

"Oh that's rich," I laugh without humor, "Why don't you see who John and Michael have been _fraternizing _with, what they've been _doing_? And then tell me who and who not to be friends with, and how to act!"

"Your brothers are my best achievement," Mother seethes, "They have never done anything wrong."

"Oh my God! You know, that _disgusting_ boy you were so mean to? His name is Peter, and even though he may appear to be horrible, he isn't, you judge so quickly. Just because John and Michael don't have tattoos and aren't poor doesn't mean that they're any better!"

"Enough!" Mother yells, "I'm tired of your stupid games, Wendy, if you cannot follow rules-"

"-YOU CAN'T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE," I scream, anger making it hard to think, "You abandoned me, you've never cared for me, you left me to be cared for by nannies and always paid so much attention to-"

Mother sneers, "I should have gotten that abortion, my God girl, you are more trouble than you're worth."

"Maybe you should have," I say quietly, "Saved us both the trouble of having to be near each other."

And with that I run out of the theater room and into the back yard, then into the forested area behind. When I get to My Spot I wipe the door off and open it, shutting it firmly behind me. I pull the only light on and sigh, feeling safe again. My Spot is something I stumbled upon when I was younger, well, fell into. I think it was an old tornado shelter or a hunting hut. Or maybe just someone made it for the hell of it. I don't know, nor do I care. I brought a generator in here years ago, so I have electricity. I also have a small, moth eaten couch, a small table, and bean bag chairs thrown into various spots. I check the generators tank and fill it up, then put A Tale of Two Cities on the table and look inside my movie chest. I pick something action-y and settle down on a beanbag with my DVD player and prepare to spend my night here.

** A/N: **yes, I did change it, it was too early for romance. It WILL come, please R&R? I like to know if people are actually liking this thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** so here's more guys! Enjoy! Reviewing is good for the soul! ;)

_Chapter Three: Peter _

I wake up with a groan, my head pounding and fingers throbbing. I open my eyes a little and hold my hands up to my face, and then I sigh, my sheets are somewhat bloody, and all my fingers have caked on blood. Right, I remember I didn't bother rinsing my hands off before passing out. I lean back on my elbows, and fall right back onto my back, my head feeling as if it had been split open. I curl up into a fetal position in an attempt to have sleep carry me away again.

"Peter, wake up," I hear Daniel say impatiently, rapping on my door.

"Argh!" I yell, the sound of his knocking sending waves of pain through my head, "Leave me alone, I'm hung over," I mumble.

"What are you saying-?" He walks in and stops himself, sighing when I guess he sees the beer cans in the corner, "Dammit Peter, I'll be back."

"Ungh," I answer.

I hear Daniel walk out and tell whoever is out there that "it happened again," before I hear the faucet running and he walks back into my room, "Here you go, Dude," he sets the glass on my bedside table.

"Thanks," I mutter, turning over and opening my eyes a bit to see a tall glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer. I groan and squirm to the edge of my bed and open the packet and dump about half of the thing into the glass. The fizzling makes my head feel like it might just burst and I wince, grabbing the glass and chugging it down. I roll over and burp, contemplating dying right then and there. The only thing that drags me out of bed is the fact that my stomach is grumbling like crazy and feels like a hollow pit of pain. I groan as I stand and stumble out of my room, then lean on my doorway before lurching my way into the kitchen.

"You look like shit," Nate chuckles from the table.

"I'll fuck you up," I mutter, grabbing the peanut butter and the milk jug from the fridge, then a loaf of bread on my way to the table. I collapse onto the chair next Nate and unscrew the milk jug and peanut butter jar. I pull a slice of bread out of the bag and take a bite, scooping peanut butter into my mouth with my finger and taking a swig of milk.

"Would you like a knife to spread the peanut butter with?"

I glower at a laughing Quinn and continue to eat my bread and peanut butter. Nate gives me a once over, "Dude, do you want to get some clothes on?"

"Lucky I'm in boxers," I grunt before chugging more milk.

"I didn't know you got that dragon done on your shoulder," Devon says, "Sick."

I nod at the sandy haired boy who I'm not all that close with, my main friends in the Lost Boys are Quinn, Daniel, Nate, Dante, and Cameron. Not that I don't get along with Devon or the others it's just that Quinn, Daniel, Nate, Dante, and Cameron are usually the ones around and the ones that I hang out with. I still have the other guys' back, just like they have mine. But maybe they have a place of their own or whatever. I don't care, and I don't like to pry.

"Thanks," I mumble, more proud of the black spiraling tribal tattoo that covers most of my body. That one was a bitch to complete, Dante enjoyed himself though. The dragon was mostly out of desperation, I needed something done quickly, and I was craving-

"What do I have to do today?" I ask quietly, grimacing at the pain in my head.

"We have around five 'cycles that need your attention, we can take care of the cars," Quinn says slowly, as if speaking to a non-English speaking person, or a moron.

"Five?"

"We tried, man," Daniel says, clearing his and Quinn's plate from the table, "But no one has your magic touch with motorcycles."

I sigh, "Both a blessing and a curse."

"At least you don't do the detailing," Nate mutters next to me.

"I was not the one that suggested you unveil your artistic abilities, now was I, Nathaniel?"

Nate mock-glares, "Well, well, well, is someone feeling better?"

"I'm hung-over," I reply, shoving more peanut butter into my mouth, "It fluctuates."

My head is still hurting a bit, and my fingers are still lightly throbbing but doing much better since Quinn cleaned them up, which is making working on this motorcycle a lot easier, considering whoever brought this masterpiece in decimated it into a piece of shit, "Fucking great," I mutter, realizing I'll have to take apart the engine to give it a good cleaning. Sighing, I decide to see if the other three motorcycles that I haven't checked out yet need less work than this one, which they probably will, so I can get them out of the way before spending so much time on one client.

"Okay Sweetheart," I murmur, patting it and standing, stretching my back, "I'll be back for you."

"Hey, Pete, c'mere for a sec," Nate calls and I sigh, walking over to his corner of the garage where he's bent over the side of a motorcycle with his paint gun in his hand, "Look at this and tell me if it's good."

"I suppose I could," I answer, and he shoves me playfully, then I seriously examine the painting he made. His work is always amazing, so detailed and precise. This one is of a red heart with wings and a halo and barbed wire, the name David intricately written in the middle of the heart, "Dude, that's awesome."

"Serious?"

"As the plague."

Nate smiles proudly at his work, taking off his safety glasses and mussing up his hair and as he takes off his apron her turns to me, "Are you gonna come to Fletcher's tonight?"

I shrug, "I dunno, it'll be a whole lot of rich pussies thinking they're the shit. I don't think I have the patience for that today."

Nate grins mischievously, "Dan, Quinn, and I are going. So are the Darling boys."

"Why do you guys always go poking the hornets' nest? Seriously dude, now I have to go, those two idiots are the kind to bring a knife to a fist fight, if you know what I mean."

"'Course I know what you mean," Nate snorts, "But they won't have the guts to use 'em."

"Fine, when are you guys gonna head to Fletcher's?"

"Around ten," Nate shrugs, "I want to finish up at least one more detailing before I leave."

I sigh, "Okay."

Nate nods before smirking, "Now get back to work you lazy piece of shit."

I roll my eyes, "I'm still hung-over."

"Yep, you keep milking that cow why don't you, Pan?"

I wink, "I will."

Nate shakes his head and chuckles, and I lean over to examine another motorcycle. It's a simple enough repair so I pull my toolkit over and get to work. I check the clock when I'm done and marvel at the fact that it's already six. Frowning I glance at another motorcycle and hop to it.

"I feel over dressed," Quinn smirks at the girls in the main room which are sparsely dressed.

"You probably are," Nate jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "But I could take care of that for you."

"Watch it," Daniel warns.

"I'm only joking, man, chill," Nate replies.

I roll my eyes at their conversation, scanning the main room. This is where most of the goody-two-shoes stay, too scared to venture to the back in case they actually get into some trouble with someone who means business. Most of them are more skittish than a crack addict, and that's saying something. I follow Nate into the back, where the ones the goody-two-shoes are scared of usually stay, so, where I go. Here, most of the girls are at least three quarters dressed, unlike in the main room where they barely have clothes on. The music is loud, and each pound of the bass sends pain through my skull and I clench my teeth together against the pain and digging around in my pocket for some of the ibuprofen tablets I brought with me and shoving some in my mouth.

There's a table in one of the far corners that has bowls of drinks and coolers filled with various alcoholic beverages, and of course, non-alcoholic drinks. I dodge my way through the throng of sweaty bodies over to the table, leaving Nate to pick up some girl he started chatting up. I reach into the not-booze cooler and nod at a group of people huddled against the wall smoking and smirking at me. I open my drink and lean against the wall, taking small sips and keeping my eyes open for trouble.

_Wendy _

"Wait!" I yell at John, "Take me with you."

It's not John who turns around but Michael. Out of both my brothers, Michael is the softy and the only one who actually cares about me. I mean, John has his moments but Mikey is the one constant. He has shaggy black hair and blue eyes a couple shades lighter than mine. He's tall and built and I can see why girls like him so much, and he's not really an asshole, just when John is around.

"It's not safe where we're going, Wen," he says quietly, "At least, not a place I want to take my baby sister."

"I don't care, okay?" I say, feeling a little desperate, "Please, Mikey, take me."

He glances down at my outfit, which is a sleeveless _Metallica _vintage shirt and jean shorts, and sighs, "Fine, but you have to stick close, okay?"

"Fine," I say, pushing him out the door, "I promise."

Mikey sighs and we walk towards the car. John barely glances at me when I jump into the backseat, and only acknowledges my presence with a quick glare towards Mikey who shrugs, "Are we going or not?"

John grunts and starts the engine, pulling out of the driveway and turning the music on as he drives through the streets. I sigh and look out the window watching the streetlights fly past as John goes way over the speed limit and curses under his breath every couple seconds when he narrowly avoids a head-on collision. I would be scared if I weren't so tired, I guess. The only reason I came out of my hiding spot is the fact that I know Mikey and John and going out and will be up to no good, and go hang out with the people Mother hates. I know better than to ask where we're going, even if I did ask, John would ignore me and so would Mikey because he's with John. Besides, they wouldn't want to tell me in fear I'd nark them out; which I don't understand, because Mother would never believe me and Dad is never home, and even when he is, all he ever does is sleep and eat.

After a while, we arrive at a biggish house that looks like its seen better days, and so does the entire neighborhood. Depressed looking houses stand beside each other, some with boarded up windows, and others that look like they've never been without their graffiti and crashed windows. My regret at coming intensifies as I take all this in, and a part of me wishes I had stayed home, but a larger part smacks that part in the face and tells it that we're trying to prove a point here, that you need to woman up. John gets out without glancing at me but Mikey waits as I get out of the car.

"I meant what I said, Wendy, stick close," he tells me, putting his hand around my shoulders and walking inside with me.

_Peter _

"Aye, look who decided to show," Quinn purrs, eyes locked on John Darling.

"Easy," I tell her, holding her elbow, "Don't just pounce on him like some sort of cheap whore."

Quinn snorts, "Right, like I want him. I just want Daniel to see him talking to me, or, me talking to him, so he gets fired up."

I shake my head, "Quinn don't be that kind of bitch."

"Come now Peter," she laughs before giving me a malicious smile, "That's the only way a girl can survive around here, isn't it?"

I shake my head in disgust, "John Darling isn't a fair fight, he could pull a knife on Dan whenever, you're putting your brother in more danger than it's worth."

"Oh fuck off," Quinn says, lighting a cigarette, "You're just some self-righteous pussy-ass bastard who doesn't know jack shit."

"Right," I say, shrugging and starting to walk away, "You gotta stop pushing people away, before they get tired of you for real."

I don't hear he reply over the music as I walk over to the drinks and grab another soda, glancing around and scowling at Quinn's figure making her sultry way to John Darling. I mutter about Quinn being stupid and take a couple gulps of my drink.

"Why hello there," a girl says, standing close enough that her cleavage is rubbing against my elbow, "What are you doing here all by yourself?"

"Drinking," I answer shortly, in no mood for her.

"By yourself?"

"Before you came, yes, I was by myself, drinking my soda in peace."

She giggles and throws her head back, leaning more heavily on me, "Hmm, well now you're enjoying that drink even more, aren't you?"

"Not exactly," I say, shifting my weight so she has to stand on her own.

"Awe come on," she whines before winking, "I could show you a good time."

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Fine," she huffs, "Whatever." Mercifully, she walks away, leaving me in a semi-peace, considering the music is loud and atrocious, some electric shit that makes my ears hurt. I shake my head and elbow my way through the crowd until I reach the back door leading to the deck. There are not many people here, and while the music is still obnoxiously loud, it's an improvement. Besides me, there are three couples _on_ the deck hardcore making out, and by the sounds of it there's more beyond the deck, in the darkness of the dead yard. I sigh and drop down against the wall, enjoying the cool autumn air and the way the world feels right before it rains.

_Wendy _

I slink away from Mikey and shove my way towards the table where the drinks seem to be, finally reaching my destination, lean against the table for a second and watch some blonde girl grinding up against John. I shudder, wondering who would ever want to do that with _John_ of all people, and reach for a can of Heineken. I hesitate for a second before opening it and taking a few quick gulps of it. My first ever ingestion of beer nearly comes right back up, the bitter taste almost making me gag. I take a deep breath before downing the rest of the can and nearly scream when I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder.

"What are you doing Wendy?!" Mikey yells.

I quickly regain my composure and shrug his hand off, "Enjoying myself, Mike."

"Well stop!" Mike roars, "You're not allowed to drink!"

I laugh at him and reach for another, "Oh yeah? Who's gonna stop me?"

"FINE! NOT LIKE I GIVE A SHIT," he finally yells before walking away. Regret fills me but I quickly kill it, downing my second beer and deciding to enjoy myself, to see what it's like to be _that_ girl.

_Peter _

I'm half asleep when the patio door slams open and a group of guys walk out, supporting a girl in between them. She's in shorts that could use a couple more inches of fabric and a _Metallica _sleeveless and I almost don't recognize her. I don't think I would have if I hadn't seen her blue eyes. Wendy. She doesn't seem to know where she's being led, too wasted to realize the who, what, where, and when. And the look on the faces is what makes me surge to my feet and walk over, stepping into their path.

One of them-I don't recognize any of them-smirks at me, "Peter Pan, what's good man?"

I fold my arms over my chest and yip my head towards Wendy, not answering his question "Where you going with her?"

One of the ones supporting Wendy smirks, "Want a piece of this do ya?"

I clench my fists and with greatly practiced self-control, I don't hit him…yet, "Not exactly, she's a friend."

"This sweet thing right here? A friend of yours?"

I nod, "She doesn't seem to really want to go with you."

"She's drunk," he winks, "No one will know."

"No," I unfold my arms and take a step forwards, "I will, and quite frankly, I can't have that on my conscience."

"Woah," the guy behind Wendy says, nudging Wendy, "She wants to come with us, don't ya Doll?"

She makes a pathetic moaning sound, weakly swatting at him before trying to stumble forwards. That draws the line for me and without hesitating I punch the guy that's closest to me in the face, he stumbles back, clutching his nose, blood dripping from between his fingers. One down, four to go. One of them comes at me and I don't back away quite quick enough, his punch grazing my shoulder. I kick his shin and elbow him in the jaw, sending him sprawling on the ground. I wince when the two guys holding Wendy up drop her and make their way to me, nostrils flared, fury clearly etched on their faces and in their posture. They come at me with clumsy punches and off-balanced kicks, and it's almost comical how quickly they're on the ground. I shake myself off before kneeling down next to Wendy and holding her in a sitting position. She pushes at me weakly, making odd little noises.

"Hey, hey, Darling, it's okay, it's Peter, remember me?" I say quietly, smoothing hair out of her face.

In response she stops and leans her weight onto me, and she starts to shake. I wrap my arms around her and her skin feels ice-cold, so I put my jacket around her shoulders and rub her arms for a couple minutes.

"Wendy, can I take you home?" I ask, tilting her face towards mine and speaking slowly.

She shakes her head before laughing a bit manically and falling back onto me, nearly knocking us to the ground. I sigh, "Okay, I'm taking you to my house then. It's freezing for you and you need food and rest. Up you go then."

Wendy seems to have forgotten how to use her legs, and after a couple steps I give up trying to lead her and just sweep her up bridal style and walk to the car, grateful for the fact that I got the keys from Daniel. I recline the passenger seat and settle Wendy into it, draping my jacket over her and gently closing her door before hopping into the driver's side and pulling out of the parking spot. Wendy watches me with cloudy blue eyes, a small smile on her face. It would be eerie if it weren't for the fact that her eyes are the most captivating eyes I've ever seen, even when clouded with the effects the alcohol has. I almost run a red light meeting her eyes, and they widen in shock as I have to hastily slam on the breaks to save us from turning into a metal-and-man pancake.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Of course she doesn't say anything; she just continues staring up at me, and her complete trust is somewhat unnerving considering I just started talking to the girl two days ago, but it's also undeniably nice to have someone look at me like I could lead them into anything and they wouldn't be afraid of following. I pull up to the shop and park, shutting off the ignition and hopping out. I walk over to Wendy's car door and scoop her up. Kicking the door shut, I make our way inside and navigate us through the narrow hallway and nudge my door open.

"Hmm," Wendy murmurs, snuggling her face into my chest, "Peter."

"I-uh-yeah, hey there," I stutter, laying her down on my bed and kicking my boots off before unlacing Wendy's. She sits up and stares at me for a second, and in that moment I realize someone must have slipped something into her drink, too. I sigh and sit on the bed next to her.

"Thirsty," Wendy says slowly.

"Oh, right," I get up and she grabs my hand with both of hers and I gently pull my hand from her grasp, "Just gonna get you water."

She frowns and nods, swaying before flopping back on her back on the bed. I shake my head and walk out and into the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard and running the tap for a second so the water cools before pouring it into the cup and walking back to my room, where Wendy is still flopped on her back, staring at Hannah.

"Hey, here's some water." I murmur, nudging her shoulder. She struggles to sit up and I hold the cup to her mouth and watch her drink clumsily, water dribbling down her chin.

"Okay," I say, setting the glass on the bedside table and tucking Wendy under the covers and  
watching her snuggle into the covers before weakly pointing at Hannah, "Play."

I shake my head, picking Hannah up and staring at the dried blood for a second, "Another time."

Wendy shakes her head, "Play."

"You need-"

"Play."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustrated defeat and sit on the edge of the bed, "Fine, but you have to go to sleep."

Wendy doesn't answer but just watches me with cloudy blue eyes, a small smile on her face. I strum Hannah to check if she's in tune and she is so I start to play a mix of random chords that sound nice together but she keeps watching me, almost as if she's asking for something more complex. I sigh, thinking for a moment before starting to play "Spanish Romance," remembering how it would put me to sleep when my mum would play it for me. Wendy's smile grows and her eyelids slowly begin to droop. I keep playing until her breathing steadies and her mouth parts ever so slightly, and she starts to snore softly. I smile, putting Hannah down and hesitantly giving Wendy a small peck on the forehead, realizing and not minding much that I was beginning to fall for the witty girl with intelligent blue eyes who always has something to say.

In fact, I find myself rather enjoying the feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Kinda short, sorry for the delayed update. More to come, longer chapter next time I promise. **

_Chapter Four: Peter _

At some point during the night, I must have climbed into bed next to Wendy because I wake up with a face full of

hair and an arm around a waist. She's still fast asleep, and Hannah is on the floor a couple feet from the bed. I sigh and yawn, rubbing my face with my hands and slowly start to get up. Thankfully, I don't disturb Wendy. I pick Hannah up and put her in her corner before turning to look at Wendy. She's curled herself into a ball, holding the pillow close to her face. She looks so unbelievably peaceful that I smile, realizing she makes me happy. Still smiling, I walk out and gently close the door behind me and frown at the sniffling sounds coming from the living room. I walk in and see Robin, the owner of the shop and our legal guardian; and Quinn, who's in one of Dan's hoodies and sweats, curled up on a chair, sobbing into her knees.

"…now I did take out a medical insurance on each of the fellas, and you too lass. Of course if there's somethin' the plan don't cover I'll pick up the slack," Robin's Irish accent colors his words, "Shh, it'll be alright, lass, that brother o' yours is a fighter, so is Nathaniel."

"The fuck is going on?" I ask, fear gripping my chest.

"Peter," Robin sighs, running a hair over his black hair, "Sit down, son. There's been an accident."

"What happened?" I ask quietly, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through my mind.

"Oh Peter you were right," Quinn sobs just as Robin is about to answer, she looks up at me with miserable blue eyes, "I was so stupid, I shouldn't have done what I did."

"WH-where's Nate? Dan?"

Robin runs a hand over his face, "Danny is in the ICU, and I reckon Nate should be discharged by t'night, if not t'morrow."

Feeling dizzy, I collapse into the closest chair and take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair before finally looking up, "What happened?"

Robin shakes his head, not quite able to meet Quinn's eyes when he says, "Dem Darling boys' ain't ever been in a fair fight. That older bastard used a blade on Danny and Nate."

"How-how bad is it?" I ask, leaning my head on my hands and closing my eyes, hundreds of images flashing through my head of all the people I've cared about.

"N-Nate is almost fine; h-he got it i-in th-the a-arm," Quinn sobs before sniffling and collecting herself enough to continue, "B-but D-Dan g-got st-stabbed i-in th-the che-" she can't finish the word but I know where she means and I feel like the floor was ripped out from beneath me, and I start to hyperventilate, and my hands shake. The images flash thorough my head again and I clench my fists, jumping out of my chair and rushing back into my room, slamming the door behind me.

"Oh!" Wendy says, jumping away from Hannah. She looks guilty and slightly dazed but other than that, she looks great, bed-head and all.

I try to smirk, but even to me it feels weak, "I see you've met Hannah, how are you feeling?"

"Oh-um-yeah," she blushes, crossing her legs, "I'm okay, just feeling a bit…fuzzy?"

I nod, settling down beside her, "Do you remember anything from last night?" I ask, balling my shaking hands into tight fists and trying to calm down.

"Uh..." Wendy blushes and looks down at her lap, "Bits and pieces, not much though."

"Do you remember if those guys…did…anything?" I ask hesitantly.

"They didn't, no," she shudders, shaking her head and taking a deep shuddering breath before continuing, "Too crowded probably."

"Good, so I don't have to kill anyone."

"No you don't," she laughs softly.

"Do you need anything-"

"Are you okay?" Wendy asks quietly, shifting her weight towards me and putting a hand over my right fist, gently trying to pry my fingers part.

"I-I'm fine, I should probably-"

"What happened Sweetie?" She asks big blue eyes boring into mine, "Talk to me, Peter."

"I'm not lying when I say I'm fine, Darling," I say slowly, feeling odd at having her call me 'Sweetie' but not a bad odd. I shake my head, "Daniel and N-Nate are the ones that a-aren't o-okay."

"Who?" Wendy moves forward, finally working my fingers loose. She frowns down at the ripped skin of my fingers and gently runs a finger over them. It stings, but I don't pull away.

"My friends. They're in the hospital," I close my eyes and take a deep breath, "N-Nate should be home tonight, but D-Dan is in t-trouble."

"Oh Sweetie," Wendy says, and she pulls me close. This is, by far, the most awkward yet enjoyable experience I have ever had, and I let myself hug her to me, and bury my face in her hair, which smells like lavender and alcohol. We stay like that until I stop shaking, and even then she holds onto me, fingers idly playing with my hair, and it feels so good that I don't move.

"What happened to them?" She murmurs, and the way we're fit together, I feel her lips move against the space just below my ear and it sends a shiver through me.

"They got into a fight," my words are somewhat muffled by her hair but she seems understand, and nods, silently urging me to continue, so I swallow and hold onto her harder before continuing, "The…the guy they were fighting pulled a knife on them."

"That's terrible," Wendy says, and grabs my hand which seems so big next to her delicate one, "What happened here?" She points to my knuckles, which are slightly raw.

"Last night when I got those guys away from you," I say, pulling back slightly so I can see the expression on her face. She looks guilty, but there's also something that I can't quite put my finger on. She sighs and brushes her lips against my knuckles.

"Thank you, so much, for not just…leaving me there," she shudders and I pull her closer, seeing the tears shining in her eyes, and she curls up, clinging to my shirt, breathing becoming erratic.

"Hey, it's alright, don't worry, I got you," I say quietly, holding her close. After a couple minutes she relaxes and I loosen my hold on her, expecting her to move but she doesn't. So we sit.

"Are you going to go see them in the hospital?" She asks quietly, tracing a finger over my tattoos. I shiver.

"Yeah, why? Do you want to come?"

"I…I…could I?" She says hesitantly.

I shrug, "If you really want to, but I don't know if you want to see them like that."

"Why?"

"Well…"

She leans forwards and turns to look me in the face, "Why? Because my brother is the one that put them there?"

I look down at where her hands are still resting on my legs, "I guess."

"That's why I want to see," she says, "And I promise I'll pay for anything."

"Don't worry about it, Wendy," I say tightly, not wanting her pity money. We're not poor; we can take care of ourselves.

"No, Peter-"

"_Listen_ Wendy," I say, flicking my eyes up to meet her widened blue eyes, "We can take care of ourselves, we don't need pity money, especially from a family who hates us. We don't need that kind of debt, so thank you, but don't."

"I-uh-oh." Wendy sighs, gnawing on her lip for a second, then, "When are you going to go?"

I sigh and stand slowly, "Now, I'm gonna change."


End file.
